


Way of Grieving

by Moit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ghost Allison, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles isn't over Allison's death, but maybe Derek can help him come to terms with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Way of Grieving

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm finally getting over Allison's death. This fic is part of my catharsis.
> 
> Special thanks, as always to my beta, Naemi. She is the heart and soul of my writing, and I would be lost without her.

After Allison’s death, Stiles had begun to put flowers on her grave every time he visited his mother. The third time he brought her flowers was the day he found her sitting on her tombstone wearing the clothes she died in.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. But when Allison said, “You’re not seeing things. I’m here,” he knew something was very wrong.

“Are you a—”

“Ghost? If that’s what you want to call me, sure.” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “If you’re _not_ a ghost, then what are you?”

Allison hopped down from her stone perch and Stiles’ eyes were drawn to her tombstone:

 

_Allison Argent_

_1997-2014_

_Beloved Daughter_

 

“I’m stuck, is what I am,” she sighed. “I can’t leave this world until everyone lets me go.” 

Stiles’ expression puckered. “But Scott started dating Kira. He may not be _over_ you, but he’s moving on.”

“Not Scott.”

Allison shook her head, gently tousling her raven tresses. “It’s you, Stiles. You’re still blaming yourself for my death.”

Anxiety rising, Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck. How could he not? If he would have fought harder . . . If Lydia would have listened . . . If he hadn’t been so stupid . . . No, Stiles hadn’t allowed himself to forget that he was the reason Allison died.

“You’re doing it right now,” the ghost of his friend said softly.

“This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. I’m having another nightmare. Wake up, Stiles! Wake up!” He squeezed his eyes closed, and when he opened them, he was not dreaming. But he was alone.

Deaton hadn’t said anything about the nogitsune leaving behind residual effects, but Stiles wouldn’t be surprised. He laid the bouquet of flowers on Allison’s grave and headed back to the Jeep.

*

He thought the episode in the cemetery was just that—an episode—until he saw Allison again three weeks later, in his bedroom this time. He wasn’t doing anything special, just studying for a test. It was also the middle of the day, so he knew he couldn’t be asleep.

“Chronoblasts produce cartilage matrix, not bone matrix.” Allison’s words startled Stiles so badly he spilled his notecards all over the floor.

“Don’t you think you could knock? Announce yourself next time?” he huffed, standing up.

“You don’t believe I’m really here, so why should I?”

Stiles stacked his notecards on his book. “Prove it. If you’re going all Patrick Swayze on me, then prove it.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Derek is going to text you. Don’t deny him.” Before Stiles could ask why, Allison was gone.

He tried to put the whole thing out of his mind, but when he _did_ get a text from Derek— _r u busy 2nite—_ Stiles had no choice but to reply _no_.

Gone was the tension that had been building between the two of them before Stiles’ life went to shit, but a spark of hope flared in his chest that maybe they could bridge that gap again.

*

They ended up ordering a pizza and watching old kung fu movies. They stayed up until Stiles’ eyelids were practically slamming shut against his will. “I should go,” he groaned, but made no move to get off the couch.

“You can stay here tonight,” Derek offered, “if you want.”

“Okay,” Stiles mumbled sleepily and closed his eyes.

*

Stiles didn’t see Derek or Allison again for two more weeks, but when the latter appeared in his bedroom, Stiles wasn’t nearly so freaked out. “Okay,” he sighed, laying down the comic he had been reading. “I get it: you can’t leave until I let you go. I’ll even admit that I’m having a hard time with that.”

Allison smiled sadly. “Stiles, my death was not your fault. Everyone has to go some time, and that was mine. Besides, I was killed by one of the oni. You were not the one wielding the sword.”

“I may as well have been.”

“But if Lydia would have read my message, it might have turned out differently. You see? Assigning blame does not change the past. Would it make you feel better if I told you I had a feeling I wouldn’t survive that battle?”

“No.”

Allison sighed. “Even my dad understands what I knew. He has let me go, so why are you stilling hanging on?”

“Because it’s my _fault_!” Stiles exploded, but as soon as the words left his mouth, Allison was gone.

*

With no one he could talk to about this, Stiles once again sought out Deaton. He had been the unlikely ally who helped them destroy the nogitsune; Stiles just hoped he had an answer for a dead friend’s ghost.

“I’m being haunted,” Stiles said, when he was sure they were alone.

Deaton didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. “By whom?”

“Allison,” Stiles replied after a pause.

“That’s . . . unfortunate.”

“‘That’s unfortunate?’ I tell you I’m being haunted by Allison’s ghost and all you have to tell me is ‘that’s unfortunate?’”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I am but a humble veterinarian?”

“Yeah, well, you’re also a druid, so . . . ”

“‘So,’ what?”

“So, fix me!”

“How, exactly, would you like me to ‘fix’ you, Stiles? You are neither canine nor lupine. Perhaps I could remove your testicles from your scrotum?”

Stiles gaped at him.

“I am not, as you and your friends seem to believe, a witch doctor. Despite my dealings with werewolves, I am quite ignorant to the practices of other supernatural beings that may or may not exist. Now, if you excuse me, I have an animal clinic to run. Kindly flip my sign back over on your way out. I have a Pomeranian coming in for a tooth cleaning in an hour.”

Shocked into silence, Stiles narrowed his eyes and stormed out of the building.

*

Deaton listened to the squeal of the Jeep’s tires as Stiles drove away. “Are you sure about this?”

Allison appeared next to him. “Trust me, he has to figure this out himself.”

“They’ve been dancing around each other for a long time.”

“Sometimes it takes a death to realize what you’ve had all along. It’s the only way I can get out of here.”

*

After his utterly useless meeting with Deaton, Stiles dropped by Derek’s loft to unwind. Scott was hanging out with Kira again, and these days the conversation always came back around to Allison. Stiles wasn’t sure he could handle that right now. Malia had called him a few times, but he didn’t want to deal with her, either.

Derek didn’t ask those embarrassing questions, and he kept the refrigerator stocked with root beer.

“Did I forget I gave you a key?” Derek asked dryly without looking up from his book when Stiles plopped down on the couch next to him.

“Funny. You never lock your door.”

Derek turned a page. “Maybe I should start.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and flipped on the television. At some point, Derek closed his book and laid his head in Stiles’ lap. They were quiet but for the sound of the show they were watching, and the soft rustle of Stiles’ fingers through Derek’s hair.

This time, Derek didn’t offer to let him stay over, and Stiles didn’t ask. When morning came, both boys were asleep on the couch with an afghan draped over them.

*

“We’re getting closer,” Allison said the next time Stiles laid flowers on her grave.

He let out a loud sigh. “Well, I’m sorry my grieving process isn’t going fast enough for you.”

“I can’t move on until you do, Stiles.”

When he looked up, she was gone.

Her visits were getting shorter, and fewer and farther between. Stiles could feel the ache in his chest lessening, but he knew some small part of it would always be there.

*

The first time Derek kissed him was the last day he saw Allison.

They weren’t doing anything special. In fact, the night had been ordinary to the point of monotony. Well, up until the kiss, of course.

Stiles was once again falling asleep on Derek’s couch. Something about the worn-out cushions and faint scent of Derek’s soap soothed Stiles more than his own bed. This night, however, Derek covered Stiles with the afghan and leaned down to kiss him.

It wasn’t anything spectacular—just a dry press of lips, and when Derek pulled away, his eyebrows were drawn tight, face etched with worry. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Stiles licked his own lips. He thought he tasted Derek on them, or it could have been his imagination. Either way, he hooked one hand around the back of Derek’s neck and pulled him in again.

In that moment, it all clicked for Stiles. His eyes flew open, and he caught sight of Allison over Derek’s shoulder. She raised her hand in parting. A small smile crossed her lips, just enough to show her dimples. Slowly, she faded away until all Stiles could see was the interior of Derek’s loft.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Derek asked, puling away when Stiles seemed to stop responding.

Shaking his head, Stiles felt the veil of grief that had been shrouding his thoughts lift ever-so-slightly. He cupped Derek’s face, staring into his concerned green eyes. “I’m better now.”

 

Fin


End file.
